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Friday, September 27, 2013

First Chapter peak of The Enchanted by Elaine Cantrell

Title: The
Enchanted
Author: Elaine Cantrell
Paperback: 218 pp.
Electronic: 484
KB
Publisher: Astraea Press
Language: English
Purchase at AMAZON
Forced by his father into a marriage he didn’t want, Prince
Alan soon finds that his bride isn’t the sweet, submissive creature he
expected. Morgane has the heart of a dragon and beauty beyond compare,
but she isn’t thrilled about the marriage either. When black treachery
threatens the kingdom, Morgane and Alan embark on a perilous journey that has
an excellent chance of ending in failure and death for them and all of their
people.
First Chapter:
Keeper Kynthelig's long, dangling necklaces clinked softly
and tangled together as he bowed low to his visitor. "King Bowdyn, it is
an honor to receive you. I had no idea that you would come to collect Prince
Alan in person, or I would have made arrangements for a feast in your
honor."
The king's nose flared slightly. The stench of the prison
penetrated even these fine apartments. "That is quite all right,
Kynthelig. I must collect Alan and leave right away, else we will be late for
the wedding festivities."
"Yes, news of Alan's marriage has spread throughout the
kingdom."
Bowdyn frowned. "I trust no one here has spoken to him
of this matter."
"No, sir, they have not."
"Good." The king's face relaxed. "I wish to
break this news to him myself."
"Of course. Would you like the guards to fetch the
prince for you?"
"I would."
At the keeper's nod, one of the guards hurried from the
reception room. "Please, sit and make yourself comfortable," Kynthelig
begged the king. "I will send for wine and cake."
Bowdyn nodded and seated himself in a cushioned chair
overlaid with rich, gold brocade fabric while servants ran to do Kynthelig's
bidding. They soon returned with a silver tray loaded with myriad sweet
delicacies. A second tray held several bottles of wine and three golden
goblets.
A wine taster stepped forward and sampled both wines before
Kynthelig or the king drank.
"This is excellent wine, Kynthelig," the king
approved as he sampled the keeper's offering. "Now I do not feel so dry
and parched from my trip across the desert." He drew a deep breath.
"I no longer smell the stench of the prison either." Reaching for a
small, bite-sized cake with pink frosting, he settled himself more comfortably
in his chair. "Are you pleased with my son's progress?"
Kynthelig almost smiled. "Indeed, I am. The prince's
time here has made a new man of him. It is a pity that such steps had to be
taken, but as always, you did not flinch from the duty set before you. Your
subjects have much to be grateful for. Not all monarchs are so wise."
The king grunted. "I have little doubt that Alan feels
quite differently, but in time I believe he will see that I did the right
thing. I pray it will be so. Even though he has been disobedient to his father
and king, he is my son."
The clanking of heavy chains announced Alan's arrival. The
king set his silver cup down and beheld his son for the first time in a year.
"I almost did not recognize him. He is filthy, and his hair is disgracefully
short, but he has certainly put on a lot of muscle."
Kynthelig inclined his head. "Indeed."
The keeper's servant brandished a fan made of fluffy white
feathers and fanned King Bowdyn as he looked Alan up and down. "He looks
as if he has worked often in the sun. His skin is quite bronzed."
"That is so. After a few months of underground work we
moved him to the surface. Staying underground too long is unhealthy."
"Turn around," King Bowdyn commanded. The prince
did so with absolutely no animation. Bowdyn stared at his son's back. "You
whipped him. He bears the scars from the flogging."
The keeper shifted uneasily as he clasped and unclasped his
hands. "He is not stupid. One flogging was all that it took, so the
scarring is minimal."
Bowdyn picked up his wine cup and drained it. "I am
glad for the scars. Every time he looks at his back in the mirror he will be
reminded of his duty. Did he make friends here?"
"Yes, sir." A pained look crossed the keeper's
thin, sallow face. "He and another prisoner called Adair were friendly to
each other. Naturally, I transferred Adair once I learned of this situation.
Isolation is necessary to achieve certain ends."
The king stood up and walked over to Alan, whose head hung
low. "You have not made eye contact with me since you walked into this
room. You are not a prisoner anymore. Lift your head as befits the crown prince
of the realm."
Alan's head came up, and he stared straight ahead. The king
smiled. "You have taught him well, Keeper Kynthelig. He no longer speaks
his mind without permission." The king snapped his fingers. One of his
guards hastened to present a set of new, soft clothes to Alan. "Wash
yourself and put on new garments. We will leave as soon as you are ready. I
would cross the Leptan as quickly as possible."
Keeper Kynthelig motioned for one of the prison guards who
stood in the doorway. "Escort Prince Alan to the pool and give him soap
and a towel."
The man nodded and touched Alan's arm. Alan silently turned
around and followed him.
The keeper watched with a face full of satisfaction. "I
think you will be pleased with him. I am certain he now appreciates all the
advantages of his position."
"I certainly hope so, Kynthelig. Now, if it is not too
much trouble, I will drink another cup of your excellent wine."
"It is an honor to serve you, my king."
****
Alan stopped so abruptly that the guard behind him plowed
into his back. How wondrous! A set of stone steps led down into a little pool
of sparkling water. Bushy, dense trees surrounded the pool and provided privacy
to bathers. His throat sucked dry as he caught the sweet scent of fresh water,
so different from the warm, brackish liquid he had been forced to drink for the
past year.
The guard prodded him in the back. "Wash yourself."
Alan stripped off his filthy, ragged loincloth and plunged
into the water. He drank deeply as his dry skin soaked up the cool, refreshing
moisture.
"Hurry up," the guard growled. "Do not keep
the king waiting."
Alan soaped himself, rinsed, and left the pool with some
reluctance. He dried on the rough towel the guard gave him and donned the
traditional hooded white robe worn by most desert travelers.
Without a word, the guard escorted him back to the keeper's
reception room where King Bowdyn was just finishing a cup of wine. His mouth
watered as his eyes fell on the plate of cakes on the table. The guards had
refused him food that morning, as they sometimes did when they wished to
torment the prisoners.
The king nodded to him. "You look much better. Most of
the prison dirt is washed away as is the stench. Come. We must ride as far as
we can, and the hour grows late."
The king strode from Keeper Kynthelig's reception room. Alan
followed several steps behind him. They reached the courtyard where one of the
king's servants bowed and handed Alan the reins of a large, dappled gray
stallion. "The horse is a gift for you," Bowdyn said. "I
selected him myself. Gawen, who trained him, assures me that there is no finer
animal in the kingdom."
They mounted up and exited the grounds. Alan drew a deep
breath as the prison disappeared from view. He had feared that this was only
some new torture, and at the last moment, his father would leave him behind.
He and the king rode in the middle of a large contingent of
soldiers. They traveled for hours, stopping periodically to rest and water
their horses at the small, infrequent pools of water scattered throughout the
desert. By nightfall they had crossed about half of the Leptan. King Bowdyn
called a halt for the night, and the servants set about making camp long before
Alan wanted to stop. The more distance between him and the prison the better.
Knowing the king's appetite, the cook hastened to assemble
and heat a savory meat stew from precooked ingredients he had brought with him.
Alan's stomach growled. He felt almost lightheaded when he smelled the food.
The cook served the king first and then offered Alan a tin plate heaping with
meat.
He turned to the side, hoping his father would not watch him
eat, but he could not stop himself from almost inhaling the food.
"You were hungry," Bowdyn observed. "Well, no
wonder. I doubt you have eaten meat in a year now. Jacca, serve my son more
food."
Jacca hurried to do so, and Alan gobbled that, too.
King Bowdyn finished his meal and laid his plate aside.
"Let us get some rest. We still have a long way to go." He turned to
Meryn, his chief servant. "Be certain to keep the fires burning all night.
I have no desire to wake with a sand dragon beside me."
Alan agreed. Sand dragons were about the size of a housecat,
but their bite spread noxious venom that destroyed flesh and usually killed.
They feared fire, though, no matter how small.
Meryn approached Alan with shackles. "My lord, your
father the king commands that we shackle you until you are accustomed to your
freedom."
The muscles in Alan's arms knotted, but he allowed himself
to be restrained with no fuss, looking neither right nor left and avoiding eye
contact with either Meryn or his father.
The king's eyes perhaps held a hint of compassion.
"That will not be necessary once we reach home. For now it is simply a
precaution. You are undoubtedly another man now, and I do not know as yet
whether you harbor ill will toward me or not."
Alan lay down on the blanket Meryn spread for him and
watched the stars. It had been a year since he had seen the moon or the stars.
He yawned. His eyelids drooped. After awhile, he turned over and let himself
drift off to sleep.
The sharp crack of a whip behind him jerked him from
slumber. "Did you really think to escape us so easily?" Kynthelig
hissed. He gestured to the burly guards who had accompanied him. "Seize
him."
This time Alan fought back, punching and kicking and cursing
the blanket and shackles that hindered him .
A hand clamped down on his arm. "Alan! Enough!"
Gasping for breath, Alan wrenched his eyes open. His taut
muscles relaxed. A dream.Only a dream.
King Bowdyn released Alan's arm. "Sleep. The morning
will soon come."
****
Meryn awoke them early the next morning. By daybreak they
were back on the trail. They rode until the sun was straight overhead before
they paused to rest. Alan searched the landscape with eagerness. Things had
begun to look familiar to him. In the distance he saw the Desvault
Mountains where he and
Nealon had roamed as children. They had enjoyed playing in
the many caves that honeycombed the mountain. No one knew who had made the
caves or why, though everyone thought they were man-made.
Several hours later they reached the castle, a heavily
fortified stone structure on top of a steep hill. A red flag bearing the image
of a screaming eagle flew from the topmost spire, proclaiming Bowdyn's pride,
glory, and power to the world. Alan heard a horn blow to signal the return of the
king. By the time they reached the courtyard, it was crowded with servants,
warriors, and advisors eager to greet Bowdyn. One of the grooms took the reins
of Alan's stallion. He dismounted and followed the king into the castle. Queen
Donella met them as they entered the high-ceilinged central hall whose mosaic
floor was considered a wonder all throughout the kingdom. Castle Bowdyn was the
only known structure with such an imposing, costly floor.
His mother stood tall and willowy, with light brown hair, brown
eyes, and a porcelain complexion. She approached Bowdyn with the grace of a
gazelle and kissed his cheek. "So, he is back, Bowdyn."
"He is."
"Has he learned his lessons as he should?"
"I have seen no indication otherwise."
The queen's blue satin skirts rustled as she turned and held
out her bejeweled hand to Alan. "Welcome home, Alan."
He bowed and kissed her hand. His mother smelled of cherries
and almonds, a signature fragrance King Bowdyn had created for her many years
ago.
"I have ordered a special dinner to celebrate your
homecoming." She took Bowdyn's arm. "My king and my prince stink of
horses' sweat. I will instruct the servants to prepare baths for you."
The king nodded. "You may go to your room, Alan. I will
send a servant to tend you."
Alan felt his father's eyes boring into him as he moved
toward the stairs. A large, fawn-colored dog darted toward him from behind a
tall, heavy curtain. He had raised Amena from a pup, but he paid no attention
to her, not even to pat her head. When he reached the landing Alan shot a look
at his father, who had wandered over to the window to look out at the activity
in the courtyard. The satisfied look on Bowdyn's face told him his father was
pleased with him.
Alan's jaw tightened. Bowdyn probably thought he had done
him a favor by toughening him up. As his father had said many times, they lived
in a hard world where dreamers and artists had little place.
****
The minute the door closed behind him, Alan bent and hugged
the dog. "I have missed you," he whispered as Amena furiously licked
his face. As he patted her, he studied his room. Things looked different to him
after an absence of a year. Brilliant light and clean, sweet air filled his
spacious room. He pressed the bed with his hand. The golden coverlet felt as
soft as a spring breeze, and the bed itself was surely made of spun clouds! And
oh, he had never noticed how large the fireplace was. He shivered, remembering
the coldness of the underground mine.
As he had expected, all traces of his wife had been removed
in his absence. Her silver hairbrush no longer lay on the dresser, and her
wardrobe held no gowns or shoes. The small painting of her that he had kept on
a bedside table was also gone.
No matter.
The very day his brother had died, he had hollowed out a
space under the floor stones. There he kept his greatest treasures, including a
good portrait of his beloved Olwyn.
He heard a discreet knock on the door. "My lord, I
bring your bath water. May I enter?"
"Come in."
Turi, Alan's personal servant, entered the room with two
other men. Each carried two large buckets of water which they emptied into a
small stone tub in a curtained alcove. Then Turi'shelpers left the room.
"It is good to see you, Prince Alan," Turi assured him. "I have
worried about you for an entire year now. Are you ready for your bath?"
Alan brightened. "Yes, I am, Turi, and I have missed
you too." He eagerly stripped and stepped into the tub. "Ah, this
warm, clean water is a miracle. I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel clean
again. It seems to me as if the foul stench of the prison has permeated my very
skin. I only pray that with time the dreadful odor will finally leave my
nostrils."
Behind him, Turi drew a sharp breath. "Prince Alan!
The… the scars…"
"It is nothing, Turi. Let us not speak of it."
After Alan bathed, Turi finished his bath by pouring a bowl
of water over his head and shoulders. "The king requests your company in
thirty minutes, Prince Alan. May I help you to dress?"
Alan inclined his head. "I will be there, but I will
dress myself." He needed a few moments' privacy to prepare for the coming
meal. Under the circumstances, he wished his mother had not prepared a
celebration for him.
After his servant left him, Alan donned a soft, rich tunic
of red velvet and a pair of skin-tight breeches in dark gold. Both garments fit
tightly after his stay in the prison, for as his father had said, he had put on
quite a lot of muscle. His lip curled with amusement. Frankly, except for the
bath and the food he would just as soon be back in prison. At least there he
had known where he stood.
****
One of Bowdyn's servants pulled out Alan's heavily carved
chair as he came down the stairs. "Welcome home, Prince Alan. May I serve
you?"
Alan nodded, and the man served him a heaping plate of pork,
vegetables, and bread. He also brought wine of an excellent vintage. His mother
and father had already been served, so the king called, "Let us eat."
Everyone started to eat with gusto. "This truly is a
meal fit for a king," one of Bowdyn's courtiers called.
Another man answered, "Of course it is. King Bowdyn
serves only the best food and drink."
As the nobles and military leaders ate their fill, Bowdyn
turned to face Alan on his right. "I have news for you, Alan."
Alan said nothing. The hard, cold expression on his father's
face told him he would not like what he was about to hear.
Bowdyn's eyes narrowed. "For two months now, you have
been a married man."
Alan had resolved to say little or nothing to anyone, but
surprise loosened his tongue. "I do not understand. Olwyn has been dead
for four years."
"Indeed. But you and Princess Morgane, daughter of King
Maccus, were married by proxy two months ago."
Alan frowned as he tried to understand his father. "I
have never heard of this thing. What does it mean?"
"It means that as long as both fathers are present, two
people can be married even if one of them is absent. This is a privilege
extended only to those of royal birth. Due to your confinement, it seemed like
the easiest thing to do. King Maccus will arrive with Princess Morgane
tomorrow. We will celebrate your marriage with a feast and a ball. At the
appropriate time, you and Morgane will consummate your marriage in order to
produce heirs for the kingdom."
Alan's fists clenched under the ornate table. "I
see."
Queen Donella tapped his arm. "I am told that Morgane
is beautiful. I am also told that she is a spirited girl who likes to laugh and
enjoy life. I think you will be very pleased with your father's choice."
"There is one thing." The king pursed his lips.
"Maccus has told me of Morgane's beauty, but she has a scar which runs
from the corner of her mouth almost back to her ear. It seems that she annoyed
Maccus past all restraint one evening, and he punished her by cutting her
face."
"That was foolish," Queen Donella huffed. "He
lessened her value in the marriage market. Who would wed a scarred woman? Is he
trying to pawn his defective daughter off on us?"
"To make this alliance, I would not care if she looked
like a cow." The king turned to Alan. "Is this a problem for
you?"
Alan swallowed hard and tried not to look his father in the
eye lest Bowdyn see the anger and resentment burning there. "No,
Father."
"Good. Then we will celebrate tomorrow."
After they had finished their dinners, most of the nobles
and military men approached Alan to offer words of welcome. In some eyes he saw
pity, in others scorn. A muscle in his jaw jerked. Pity! Scorn! Gah!
Once the meal concluded, Alan went to his room, where Amena
waited for him. He had brought the dog a piece of meat, which she attacked as
if she had not eaten in a long time. "What am I to do?" he muttered.
"I would almost rather go back to prison than marry this woman."
Amena growled over her pork.
"I forgot for a moment, Amena. It is already done. I am
a married man."
He lay down on his bed, reflecting as he did so that he
hadn't had a clean bed to sleep in for an entire year. The backbreaking labor
and cruelty of the guards had been no harder to tolerate than the filth in
which he had lived. He imagined a strange princess beside him in this clean,
soft bed. "No," he muttered. "I want no part of it."
A soft knock on the door interrupted his gloomy thoughts.
"Come in."
Cademon, his old tutor, poked his white head around the
door. His seamed face lit, his brown eyes sparkled with joy when he saw Alan.
"Good evening, Alan."
Alan jumped up and threw his arms around the old man.
"It is good to see you."
"And you as well."
Alan indicated two comfortable, deep chairs drawn around the
oversized fireplace. "Please, sit down. Tell me all your news."
"Nothing changes with an old man. I would rather speak
of your troubles."
Alan grimaced. "I had hoped my father would forget this
marriage nonsense, but evidently it is not to be."
Cademon snorted. "Indeed not."
Alan frowned. "You sound as if you agree with my
father. I expected your loyalty to lie with me."
"As it always does," the old man placated. "I
love you as if you were my own son."
"Then why do you speak to me in such a fashion?"
Cademon shrugged. "Is it not obvious? Since Nealon's
death, you are your father's heir. You must marry and produce offspring. I
would not have chosen such a way as prison to bring you to your senses, but did
you not know that eventually your father would require you to marry?"
Alan shrugged. "I gave it very little thought."
"I have heard good things about the Lady Morgane.
Perhaps you will grow to love her."
"Doubtful."
Cademon tapped his knee. "Your father needs this
marriage, Alan. It will cement the alliance between our people and King Maccus.
We need this alliance. Since you went away, the Baronis to the north have grown
bolder in their attempts to take your father's northernmost provinces."
"And Maccus lives on our northern border," Alan
finished.
"Yes."
Alan's face hardened. "Did my father send you to
me?"
Cademon nodded. "I will not lie. He did send me. He
wants me to report on your willingness to obey."
"And what will you tell him?"
"That you are a loyal son who understands the necessity
of the marriage and will do his part to produce heirs for the kingdom."
Cademon smiled at him and rose from his chair. "Your father was wrong to
send you to prison as he did, but all of that is now ended. Take your rightful
place at his side."
Alan refused to tell Cademon what he wanted to hear.
"Thank you for your visit."
Cademon bowed and let himself out of the room, shutting the
door quietly behind him. Amena crawled out from under the bed and snuggled
against Alan, who absently stroked her head. "I have three choices, Amena.
I can do as Cademon says, but if I do, I fear I may become as cold as my
father. Of course I could run away, something I have vowed never to do, as it
indicates a cowardly and weak nature. However if I do not run away, the
Princess Morgane joins us tomorrow night."
He paused and poured a glass of water from the jug on the
washstand. "I could also challenge my father. If I defeat him in battle, I
become the king and can do as I please."
Amena whined and Alan exclaimed, "I do not like that
one either! I do not feel kindly toward my father, but I cannot kill him."
So his course was clear. He would rather live as a wanderer
than become like his father. Tomorrow he would leave the kingdom.
------------------
The Enchanted Tour Page:
http://www.pumpupyourbook.com/2013/07/04/virtual-book-tour-pump-up-your-book-presents-the-enchanted-virtual-book-publicity-tour/

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All reviews on this blog are either from my personal library of books or from books provided to me for review. I have not received any payment for these reviews and I am not required to write a positive review.

Book Review or Book Spotlight, What's the dif?

I have been posting something I have been calling a Book Spotlight. How is this different from a review? A Review is when I have read the book either entirely or mostly and I feel that I can write an opinion on the book based on my experience with the book. I either have a physical copy of the book or audio or e-book. A Spotlight is when I haven't actually read the book but I want to bring attention to it so others are aware of it. I sometimes have a copy of the book but just haven't gotten around to reading it yet. I may just like the author and intend on getting a copy of the book soon. Most spotlights include a summary taken from Amazon.com or Goodreads.com.